In what was confessed as essentially being an annual appearance, Braintree’s finest folk artist Beans On Toast once again tread on Yorkshire soil this week, adorning the Leadmill stage on Tuesday night. With him came a communal sense of camaraderie one would expect from the seasoned singing storyteller.
But before we get to Beans, opener William Crighton was commanding in the most welcome way. Sonically their stature was undeniable. Wielding a small guitar, he cracked immense power as he tamed its 12 strings. Lyrically considered and attentive, he painted landscapes of growing up in Australia and trying to connect to the oldest cultural roots still surviving in our modern era. His retelling’s are as lucid as the lake, making the world they know feel like one we know, and then giving us that killing blow – it is. His ability to make what may be distant in reality feel so familiar was really admirable. As for their captivating vocals, they swelled inside the space. We were carried to brilliant scenes and images, whether supported by keys, guitar or the soft silence of a room full of people. Poetic and brilliant, he’s an artist whose work is worthy of attention.
Enter Beans On Toast. If his music doesn’t translate a sincere, earnest yet unafraid artist who is deep in conversation with their audience, I’m not sure what does. The fact they’re capable of taking to the stage barefooted in a completely unpretentious and unannoying way tells you everything you need to know. Beans On Toast demonstrated how to involve a crowd without just relying on crowd work, with their actual creative work and character. Their merch stall is stacked with art, mostly in the form of various slogans that would fit nicely atop your mantelpiece (or humorously not, in some cases). There’s again a humble sense of spiritualism that descends on the room when he speaks and performs, and it swims when he sings. It does this subtly, and crucially it’s very inviting.
Playing classics from their fruitful discography, the delivery of this live catalogue of folk-song established a mini commune in the depths of Sheffield’s former flour mill and iconic venue. Humorous and at times scathing of the state of things, stories of pretty ladies and liquid acid and the ethical black hole of chicken farming seemed completely coherent in this context. The result is a gig that’s funny, kind, rebellious and very enjoyable. This wasn’t Beans’ first Leadmill gig and if this city is lucky, it won’t be his last.
(It won’t be).
